Thanks a Lot God (for the tornado)

First, I feel absolutely horrible for all the people affected by the tornado in Oklahoma.  No one, especially children, should ever have to suffer like that.  I can’t imagine how terrible that must be and feel lucky for my safety.

What I have difficulty with is how social media sites blow up with messages of “pray for the victims,” or “have faith that God will get you through this horrible time.”  That logic absolutely escapes me.

For those who believe in God, don’t you at least have to believe that your God is an evil and unsympathetic God?  How can you rationalize children being buried alive and killed by a tornado?  What did an innocent child do to deserve that fate?

How is that part of “God’s Plan”?

When I’m confused about religion I often turn to Pat Robertson to explain.  I’m guessing that Pat may think there were a lot of gay people in Oklahoma who needed to be purged from the planet (similar to the earthquake in Haiti).  Shame on those gays for pissing off nature again.

Interestingly enough, Pat backed away from his usual delusion-filled comments and gave a much more comforting answer.

“Why do you build houses where tornadoes are apt to happen,” said Pat Robertson.  Well done Pat.  So basically, all those poor people are just idiots who don’t know where to build a house.

Just when I thought I had heard it all, Pat went on to say that praying would have helped and that “Jesus could have stilled the storm.”

HOLY, FUCKING, SHIT.

I think someone needs to start a new campaign and it’s titled: PUNCH PAT ROBERTSON IN THE MOUTH UNTIL HE CAN NO LONGER SPEAK

He should not be allowed to walk on our planet.  Oh well, maybe if enough people pray hard enough, Pat could be swallowed by a sink hole and we would never have to hear him speak again.  That would be incredibly ironic.  But then again, what types of morons build houses where there could be a sinkhole.

Duh’Merica wake up, it’s almost too late.

 

China- Still Winning

I argue with people quite often about the current health of American Society.  And when I use the term “health”, I mean the current state of the American people as an educated society.

I poke fun at my country and often say that China is winning.  So today, I went to a website visited daily by millions of Americans just to keep up with current events.

According to TMZ, this is what Americans care about today:

Story 1- Reese Witherspoon’s infamous “you are going to know who I am,” moment.  Ah Reese, so nice to see you putting into practice all that legal knowledge from your Legally Blonde movies.

Apparently, millions of Americans care about a washed-up actress who thinks she’s better than all the sheep who watch her movies.  Your husband was drunk, shut the fuck up and obey the cop.  Newsflash- Georgia cops don’t give a fuck about Hollywood.

Story 2- “Teen Mom Farrah Working Another Pole”  HOLY FUCKING SHIT.  Here is a girl who was on television for breeding too early.  When her tiny pinch of fame began to dissipate, she decided to follow in the steps of Kim Kardashian and make a fuck movie.

BRILLIANT.  Hey America, all you have to do for fame is fuck somebody, video tape it and then pretend you had no idea your bleached asshole was on the internet.

Story 3- Only 3 Words Necessary- LINDSAY…..FUCKING….LOHAN.  I didn’t get past the headline, but I assume it has to do with court, drugs, lawyer and rehab.

In the interest of time, I’m going to stop there because the next stories are essentially a regurgitation of the first ones.  Only the names are different.

So America, don’t bitch when China takes over and we are eating fried golden retriever puppy nuggets, taking rickshaws to work at a factory making cheap, plastic toys for Wal Mart.

I warned you.  China is still winning.

Dear Justin Beiber

Dear Justin,

You might want to slow your roll a bit.  It seems like you are a nice kid.  You are ridiculously successful and seem to give back to your community.  I’ve seen you on Ellen and you truly seem like you have a good heart.

But, I recently saw that you had an altercation with a paparazzi.  Now at first I didn’t think that was a big deal, but then it was revealed that you were taking boxing lessons from Mike Tyson.

HOLY, FUCKING, SHIT.  Where were your handlers when that decision was made????

You do realize that Tyson is historically one of the biggest train wrecks in American pop culture, don’t you????

He served prison time for raping a woman.  Yes, RAPE, that’s a very bad thing.  Now you are taking boxing lessons from him???

Oh, wait a second, I get it, you are trying to shed that pretty, little sterile white-boy image you have so masterfully created.  WHY, WHY, WHY??????

That image is what has all those pre-teens buying your shitty music and going to your concerts and giving you the ability to be the next Warren Buffett.

It’s painfully obvious that you are not comfortable in your pasty skin.  With one delicate sneeze, your pants will fall off because you wear them like a ghetto brother. 

Should We Feel Sorry for Soldiers?

I went to a hockey game the other night.  Right before the game started, they paid tribute to a local soldier who had recently been killed overseas.  He was only about 20 years old when he was killed defending our country.

I stood up and applauded with the rest of the crowd, but then I began to think.

Should we really feel sorry for soldiers when they die?

At this point in time, at this point in history, at this point in my life; I am inclined to say, “NO”, we should not feel sorry for soldiers.

Jesus Went to Supercuts

So, a nice old Jehovah woman rang my doorbell today and handed me the above pamphlet.  She was not pushy at all, but rather just invited me to come get all my questions answered about Jesus. She didn’t even give me any Watchtower hand-outs, I was shocked. I thanked her and closed the door.

Of course most people find Jehovah Witnesses incredibly annoying and I generally find myself feeling that way too.  But after looking at this beautiful depiction of Jesus, I began to think about Jehovahs in a different light.

In San Fran

First trip to San Fran, first trip to Cali, first trip to the Left Coast

Too scared to stay outside the financial district,

my pussy wasn’t ready for that cherry pop

I like to hang around the less smelly creatures when I travel to big cities,

That whole piss, patchouli dread-locked stink doesn’t appeal to my golden spoon upbringing.

San Fran is a different breed;

More Asians than you could throw a noodle at

More homeless than New York

More trendy than Miami

Oddly polite, like how white people treat other white people in the deep south

Did the good society thing and went to the SFMOMA and stared at some cool artwork with meanings I will never understand

After that, Wifey and I started drinking at the Hyde Out, a local bar with plenty of flavor;

Russian bar tender, hipsters playing dominoes while drinking local, craft beer, surprisingly friendly, oddly friendly, I could be a good drunk in San Fran, the locals make it so easy

Had our fill, then off to the Tonga Room in pursuit of Anthony Bourdain’s footsteps, got lost inside a cocktail that I think I saw on that one episode of the Brady Bunch when they were in Hawaii

It was called a Zombie, and yes, it fucking worked

Stumbled out and saw Frasier’s wife Lilith leaving the Fairmont getting into a BMW SUV,

Damn, she even looks like a bitch in person; sad because she’s probably a saint and does a lot of charity shit, but I will always remember how bad she fucked with Frasier, remember how she drove him to that bar stool every fucking day

Chinese New Year Parade blocked us in to a small section of restaurants, damn the Asians are everywhere; firecrackers, weird-ass dragon costumes, like a terrible acid dream, at least I was taller than most of them

San Fran gets a giant, opposable thumbs up from me, I will go back.

My Addiction

I’m embarrassed, I’m ashamed and I’m weak because I have an addiction.  I’m not proud of what it does to me.  I’m not proud of what I do to get it.  But I do it anyway.

When I first roll out of bed, it nags at me like a hangnail.

“Come get me, you know you need me.  You know you can’t make it an hour without me,” it whispers knowingly in the back of my mind.

I look around my house in odd corners hoping to find a couple of quarters or dimes.  If I can’t find enough there, I lift up my car seats and scour underneath to find the right amount to pay for my it.

Once I find enough change, I get into the car.  I don’t brush my teeth, I don’t bathe, I simply put the car in drive and get there as quickly as possible.